


I Just Wanted Pizza, Damnit

by TheObsessedAuthor



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Humor, M/M, Pizza, takeout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:17:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheObsessedAuthor/pseuds/TheObsessedAuthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire order pizza. That's it, that's the plot. Have fun, kids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Wanted Pizza, Damnit

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has a better idea for a title, please suggest it.

"Honestly, you could probably whip up something ten times better than this in half the time it will take to get here." Enjolras tossed aside the takeout menu and sighed. "Besides, we had Chinese three days ago, and Mexican two days ago-"

  
"And yesterday I worked my ass off preparing you a wonderful, thought-out, homemade supper, which you picked at while complaining about the world's economy." Grantaire, who was lying across the couch with his head in Enjolras' lap, glared jokingly at his boyfriend. "That hurts, you know. Fresh asparagus is hard to find in the middle of winter."

  
"I'm sorry," E mumbled, reddening despite R's playful tone. "I shouldn't have done that. I really do appreciate your culinary efforts, I just-"

  
"Efforts?" Grantaire sat up, mock outrage dancing across his face. "I like to think my creations are more than mere efforts, thank you very much." He rolled off the couch and picked up the menu from the floor. "But, yeah, we have been eating takeout a lot lately."

  
Enjolras bit his lip. "If you don't feel like cooking, I could try to-"

  
He was cut off by an incredulous snort. "You're not going to offer to cook, are you?" Enjolras blushed further. "Oh, god, you were. Look, no offense, but the last time you tried making scrambled eggs you set the microwave on fire. And they were _still_ underdone."

  
"Fine," E sniffed, trying to regain some dignity. "I guess we can just pay a ridiculous amount of money for a piece of cardboard slathered with sauce and plastic cheese."

  
"Pizza! Great idea." Grantaire shuffled the pile of delivery menus they kept by the phone. "This way we won't have to evacuate our building, at least."

  
"The fire wasn't that big, it barely reached the curtains. And we needed new curtains, anyway."

  
"Whatever. Stick to the speeches, Apollo, and leave the cooking to me." R grinned as he dialed the restaurant. "And this way we can harass Bossuet."

  
"He's working at Millie's now?"

  
Grantaire shrugged. "You know him, can't hold down one job for more than a month."

  
"He's a hard worker, though. Why can't he keep a job?"

  
"He gets bored and quits. He's got quite the resume, though. He's had twenty-odd jobs in the last year." Grantaire looked up. "You want your usual?"

  
"Sausage and olives." Enjolras pursed his lips. "And extra cheese."

  
"Thought you said it tasted like plastic," Grantaire teased. "Hello? Millie's?"

  
As R ordered their food- one medium pizza, half sausage and olives, half Veggie Lover's Choice, extra cheese- Enjolras settled back into the couch. Thirty minutes for delivery.

  
"Oh, and could we request the delivery boy?" Even with his eyes closed, Enjolras could tell Grantaire was grinning. "The new one. Bossuet, I think he's called? Yep, him. Big guy. Could you send him over? Lovely. Have a nice week, darling."

  
He hung up. Enjolras eyed him. "'Darling?' You're not that nice to me on the phone, and I pay half the rent."

  
"Yes, but I have to live with you, so it kind of evens out." Grantaire smirked cheekily. "Besides, she sounded hot. Always better to cover all your bases, yeah?"

  
"Careful, I might get jealous." Enjolras pulled Grantaire back onto the couch and brushed a kiss against his forehead.

  
"The mighty Apollo, jealous of his mortal lover's trivial dalliances? Never." Grantaire let his head fall against E's chest and sighed. "Should we invite Bossuet in when he gets here, or just let him drive back to his boring job in a freezing company car?"

  
"Do you really want to have to share your pizza?" Enjolras carded his fingers through Grantaire's curly black hair.

  
Grantaire breathed in deeply. Enjolras smelled like printer's ink and vanilla and exhaustion. " _Mine_? Do you really think _Bossuet_ is a vegetarian?" Man, Enjolras always wore such soft shirts. Grantaire's own shirts were rough and splattered with paint, more for functionality than comfort. More than once, Enjolras had returned from his shift at the office to find him painting shirtless, having run out of clean clothes and too "in the zone" to bother doing a load of laundry. Enjolras, by contrast, had crisp black and white business shirts (designated for his job) and soft cotton shirts advertising obscure bands, none with so much as a speck on them. Grantaire didn't know how he did it.

  
"Are you trying to inhale my clothes?" R opened his eyes and looked up. Enjolras seemed amused. "I doubt that will work, by the way."

  
"Ye of little faith. Did you get stuck in the corner cubicle today?"

  
Enjolras nodded. His workplace shifted cubicles every second week, to "change up the monotony," apparently. The corner office- which nobody wanted- contained the printer, and whoever landed there not only had to deal with others constantly walking in and out, but was responsible for changing the ink cartridges and un-jamming the paper slots. "My fingers were covered in ink," Enjolras said, holding up his hands and frowning. "I had to bleach them."

  
"What a shame." Grantaire pressed a kiss to one of Enjolras' palms. The doorbell rang then, startling them both and causing R to fall off the couch ungracefully.  
Enjolras laughed, then helped him up. "I suppose we should greet Bossuet properly."

  
They answered the door together. "Hey, Bos," Grantaire said easily, holding out the money automatically. "I've got the- oh my GOD!"

  
Bossuet grimaced, blood seeping down his cheek. "It's not as bad as it looks," he promised. "I may have ruined your front gate, however."

  
Enjolras unfroze and grabbed his arm. Grantaire took his other arm, and they helped him inside. "What happened? Is it icy? I should've put out some rock salt, that would've made the roads better, I thought the city salt trucks had gone by here already, oh my god, i'm so sorry, how can I-"

  
"Apollo!" Enjolras stopped babbling and glanced at Grantaire guiltily. "Go get a warm washcloth and the first aid kit. My cell's on the kitchen counter, grab that too. We'll call Joly."

  
"Please don't," Bossuet groaned. "He'll overreact, you know that. Call Musichetta, she'll handle it better. Joly will just give himself an aneurysm."

  
Grantaire chuckled as he helped him sit on the couch. "I suppose, but he'll find out eventually, and then it will be twice as bad." Enjolras returned, and Grantaire accepted the damp washcloth, handing it to Bossuet. "Here, hold this to the wound. I'll get some antiseptic on it as soon as the blood dissolves." He sat back. "So, what happened?"

  
Bossuet shrugged, scrubbing at the injury impatiently. Enjolras winced. "Black ice, I guess. Caught me off guard, my brakes did nothing, and I crashed into your gate." He paused. "The car actually looks okay, I think. I should go check."

  
Enjolras scowled at him. "You will do no such thing. Screw the company car."

  
Bossuet grinned at R. "You're rubbing off on him, aren't you?"

  
Grantaire coughed. "You're lucky Courfeyrac's not here, or an obscene joke would've just been made."

  
Enjolras shoved Grantaire off the couch. Grantaire laughed, then picked up his phone. "So, Musichetta. She might tell Joly anyway, you know."

  
"Probably. Worth a shot anyway." Bossuet looked at the wet rag still clenched in one hand, covered with blood. "Wow. Head wounds _do_ bleed a lot."

  
Enjolras took the cloth from him and applied antiseptic, then handed him a bandage. "You know, you're taking this rather well for someone who just lost that much blood."

  
Bossuet gave a lopsided smile. "Living with Joly, you learn to downplay everything. Musichetta cried during a movie once and he tried to administer shots." He patted the bandage, then winced. "We're not allowed to watch Disney movies anymore. Especially not The Lion King."

  
"Mufasa's death wasn't _that_ emotional," Grantaire argued, snapping his phone shut. "Musichetta will be here in ten minutes. And Joly overheard, unfortunately. He's coming too."

  
Bossuet sighed. "I should call in and say i'm off for the night. Can I borrow your cell?"

  
Grantaire handed him the phone. "Will they send someone else to pick up the money?"

  
"Probably. Jeannie might volunteer." He smirked. "She's the one you sweet-talked on the phone. Left an impression on her, for some reason. She might be enamored with you now."

  
Grantaire grinned smugly at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes. "See? Bases covered."

  
"Speaking of money, I _did_ manage to bring the pizza," Bossuet interjected. "It's in the front seat, if one of you wants to go get it." He tossed the keys to Grantaire.

  
Enjolras leaned back into the couch. "I suppose, since we're going to have five people over, and Millie's is sending out another person anyway..."

  
Bossuet smiled. "I'll call Bahorel, Feuilly and Jehan. Do you have Courfeyrac and Combeferre's numbers?"

  
"I have everyone's numbers," Enjolras confirmed. He nodded to Grantaire as he returned with the pizza. "Can you call Marius, Cosette and Eponine? We're branching out."

  
"Fantastic." R tilted his head. "I'll order more pizzas first. How many do you think we'll need?"

  
"With Bahorel coming? Who knows?"


End file.
